


paperclip jewellery

by Setkia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Dorky!Oikawa, Fluff, Humour, Iwaizumi Is His Own Cockblocker Probably, M/M, Miscommunication Probably, Office Shenanigans, Pining, Receptionist!Oikawa, SOOO many references, So Canon Oikawa, Ugly Betty AU, idiot boys, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime is the demonic boss of Seijoh Inc, who has lunch with the office door closed so no one can see him feasting on the blood of virgins, or the portal to hell conveniently tucked away under his desk.Enter Oikawa Tōru, the dorky new receptionist who watches way too much sci-fi and might have a thing for his boss's forearms.





	1. dead body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a dead body on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I KNOW, I've got _One Piece_ , _Star Trek_ , and another _Haikyūu_!! fic to finish, and school is piling up, but this is a de-stressor. It comes from a headcanon from my [blog](https://pushitpushitheadcanons.tumblr.com), and got out of control. Chapters will be short, and feel like one-shots in the same universe, with no clear updating schedule, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. These fluff bits always get a life of their own and I end up being more dedicated to them than my properly planned out stories anyway. Think of it as _Ugly Betty_ meets _New Girl_ meets _The Office_.

Tōru has been working at Seijoh Incorporated for almost a month, and he has never seen the infamous Iwaizumi Hajime. His new boss is apparently a demon who makes people stay late on the weekends, and people are scared shitless to call the office for fear of hearing him speak. It’s kind of funny that as the one who sees everyone come and go, he’s never seen his boss.

He’s heard the stories though. Of the time the boss made some temp stay late into the night because they had faxed the papers to the wrong place, how he made tenure sound like a nightmare, how he ate in his office, feeding off the souls of innocent virgins.

He shivers just thinking about it.

All the same, he’s never been one to slack off, so he picks up the speed because his shitty alarm didn’t go off and he’ll be damned if he’s ever told he’s lazy (Tōru has an _amazing_ work ethic), trying to bust the office door open.

Something stops it, like there’s some sort of jammer, so he pushes with all his weight against the doorframe and when it finally gives way, he flips the light on and screams.

There’s a dead body on the floor.

A man is lying face down on the carpet, their jacket half-on. It’s a strange picture, of unkept hair and wrinkled clothes. His shoulders are so wide, Tōru realizes _this man_ was the inadvertent door stopper.

Tōru leans close to the body and checks for a pulse. The skin is boiling, something’s not right. He takes a step back and nudges the body gently with his ankle. His converse are not technically part of his uniform, but he had to run to the building and he scaled the stairs instead of the elevator, which he regrets because the stench of his own sweat is probably outweighing the cologne, and he’s pretty sure he’s just stubbed his toe on the body in the doorway.

Suddenly, the body lets out a groan.

_It’s alive._

Shit, what does he do?

He got First Aid training, once, during the summer he thought he’d be a lifeguard, but ended up having to look after Takeru. How’d it go? He drops his bag, falling to his knees. He can’t remember the steps, simulations never prepare you for this, nothing can simulate this type of panic.

He pokes the side of the man’s head, and watches as it moves with the small nudge. There’s another groan.

Tōru bites his lip.

“Um … excuse me?”

The body jerks to attention, raising a well-tanned wrist to inspect their watch. “It’s six?” says the man, his voice deep and unfairly attractive. His tie is crumpled, and there’s signs of carpet burn on his palms. “Shit, I gotta get back to …” He looks up and out the small window near Tōru’s desk. “It’s … It’s six AM, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Shit.” The man stands up and tries to straighten out his jacket, grabbing his briefcase.

“Uh, is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” says the man. He’s lying.

“Hey, it’s not like the boss is here yet, you’ve got time,” says Tōru.

The man quirks his head and stares at him. “Who are you?”

“Uh, Oikawa Tōru. The new receptionist?” Come to think of it, he doesn’t recognize the man in front of him, and he’s memorized more or less everyone who works in the building. “I introduced myself my first day?”

“Didn’t make it to that,” says the man frowning. His forehead has many wrinkles in it. This is a man who worries far too much. “Was it in my schedule? Scratch that, I would’ve gotten to it if it had been in my schedule. Someone forgot to mention it. Shit.” He rubs his eyes and yawns. He’s got morning breath.

“Did you sleep here?”

“Uh, kind of collapsed,” says the man sheepishly. He clears his throat. “Right. So I guess formal introductions are in order. While the circumstances are … odd, and it’s a bit overdue, welcome to the team, Oikawa Tōru. I’m—”

“Boss?”

_What?_

The blond Tōru has affectionately labeled Stingyglasses pokes his head into the room and frowns. “Iwaizumi-san, you’ve met the receptionist?”

“Ah. Yes.”

This, the man who is nervously rubbing his neck, _this_ is the monster Iwaizumi Hajime?

Tōru’s speechless.

_Oh my God._

_I kicked my boss_


	2. eye candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa Tōru hums a stupid jingle for an infomercial and wears Old Spice cologne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured we may as well get both stupid idiots' POV.

The new receptionist is an eyeful.

It’s not as if Hajime doesn’t see what his mother is trying to do. He’s always so busy, working late into the night, first to arrive, last to leave, if he ever even leaves. It’s what happens when you’re efficient at your job, but some people don’t see it that way. His mother is so certain he’ll be enraptured by the hot secretary that he’ll completely forget his duties as the leader of a giant business corporation, which is just wrong in every way.

The most irritating thing is that she got his type just right.

The new receptionist has hair the colour of caramel and eyes like melted chocolate. His skin glows like he’s some pin-up on a billboard and it should look eery and unnatural in real life, but it’s not exactly a turn-off. His fingers look strong, but delicate, and his arms are fit but not bulky. He doesn’t look _exactly_ like a doll, because Hajime’s not some uncontrollable mass of hormones who likes people who exist just to sit and look pretty, but the new receptionist is very close.

He’s pretty sure if the man just sat there and didn’t do anything, it might work.

But then he opens his mouth and ruins everything.

It’s like being doused in cold water.

Oikawa Tōru hums a stupid jingle for an infomercial and wears Old Spice cologne. He plays Solitaire when he should be working, and wraps the phone’s chord around his finger like he belongs in an 80s show about nine people living in an impossibly small house. One time, he forgot to put his headphones in and the _Star Wars_ theme started blaring from his phone. His ringtone is the TARDIS, and he watches clips from _Star Trek_ during his lunch break, while “whispering” _gayyyyyy_ under his breath, as though Hajime can’t hear his loud mouth with his office door open.

Honestly, Oikawa Tōru is a Godawful receptionist.

After the disaster that was their first encounter, Hajime keeps a close watch on Oikawa. His mother hired him behind his back, and she’s picky, which means he must be _more_ than just gorgeous, though he’s making a little card-pyramid which, yes, takes skill, but Hajime doubts appears on his résume.

About a week after The Incident, there’s a knock on his door.

Hajime shoves the take-out food underneath his desk, closes the Crash Course on the Stock Market tab on his computer, cursing himself for not remembering the time stamp, and forces the food down his throat enough to say “come in”.

It feels stiff, and wrong. He’s going to lose all his hair at twenty-four at this rate.

It’s Oikawa.

He’s holding a rather thick file close to his chest, and looking everywhere but at Hajime. Seems he’s not the only one embarrassed by their first meeting. Though, the whole jumping five feet when Hajime approaches the water cooler and running off may have clued him in first.

“I just wanted to properly introduce myself to you,” says Oikawa, “since we had such a rough start, and I know I should’ve done it sooner, but I uh, well, I’m human and don’t like confronting humiliating scenarios.” Oikawa takes a deep breath, and then barrels on through. “So the file has my résume, just so you know I _am_ qualified for this job, since I know you didn’t hire me, but you _could_ fire me, and I’d be shit out of luck then— oh fuck, I swore in front of you— and I did it again, _fiddlesticks!_ Okay, no more swearing.

“Anyway, there’s also a list of people who called you during your lunch break, and any other messages that the old receptionist never delivered to you. I reorganized your meetings so you don’t have three back to back anymore, put coloured-tabs in the filing cabinet instead of those awful ink-smudged labels, and cleared up your schedule to give you just a _little_ more time Wednesday afternoons. I thought about doing it on Friday, but I mean, everyone needs a break in the middle of the week, right? Also, I’ve called a technician to fix the bug in the phone, it keeps going to Sti—Tsukishima’s line instead of yours, and while I was at it, I double checked the budget and found we’ve got enough cash to get you your own Internet hotspot so you don’t have to deal with the slow internet cause of all the crowding. You can keep the password to that one secret.

“Oh, and your mother called. Said she wanted to talk to you about something that seemed like a personal matter you’ve been avoiding for months, so I told her you were in a meeting, and swamped with work until at least next week, though I recorded the message so you have some way to figure out how to deal with that at a later date. Maybe I shouldn’t have made that assumption, but what’s done is done and why are you looking at me that way?”

_Marry me._

He doesn’t say it, because Hajime isn’t a complete idiot. Somehow, this doofus in front of him has not only tackled problems Hajime has been pretending don’t bother him, but he’s started fixing things he hadn’t realized needed it. The _ET_ sticker on the file reminds him this is indeed the same person who whines about the lack of bendy straws in the break room.

Okay.

Oikawa Tōru may not be a terrible receptionist. He may even be _over_ qualified.

But he’s still an employee, and regardless of how attractive he is, Hajime is _professional, Goddammit_. Though, brainy has always been sexy to Hajime and— no, Mother is _not_ winning this round.

Hajime is almost _relieved_ at how irritating he finds that Godawful jingle. He watches Oikawa at his desk, the way he chews on his pen cap is a serious choking hazard, and is _not_ endearing. Hajime’s just really pent up.

This is fine.

Absolutely fine.

The fact that he closes his office blinds is completely irrelevant.


	3. nicknames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Tōru has given you a nickname, he will call you by it, as his co-workers learn during his first week on the job.

Oikawa Tōru is the _master_ at nicknames. There is not a single person in his life he has not re-Christened with a new title that is quite honestly, more fitting than the one they were given at birth. That’s because he doesn’t limit his names to shortened or modified versions of their name. It helps keep his creative mind busy, and it’s fun.

If Tōru has given you a nickname, he will call you by it, as his co-workers learn during his first week on the job.

Kageyama Tobio flinches when he hears the old nickname from elementary school, “Emotionally Constipated King”, or “ECK”, and crushes his milk carton in his hands. Tōru wouldn’t call his laugh a _cackle_ , per-say, but it’s pretty damn close.

Hinata Shōyō gets very grumpy when referred to as “Shrimpy”, not that he expected much else. “Carrot Top” and “Peter Pan” were in the running, but Peter Pan sounds too cool for such a squirt, and Carrot Top too unimaginative. There’s another layer in calling him “Shrimpy”, as a bottom dweller that some people are allergic to.

Bokuto Kōtarō gets super excited when he calls him “Owl-san”, and Akaashi Keiji from HR sighs, asking if he must file a sexual harassment complaint about being called “Pretty Boy”. Kuroo Tetsurō sounds like a hyena when Tōru refers to him as “Rooster-kun”, then checks in with his childhood friend, Kozume Kenma (Pudding Head) the next time they visit to see if he really does resemble the irrupting barnyard animal. He isn’t happy with the results.

The most disappointing reaction has to be Tsukishima Kei’s, also known as Stingyglasses, who just stares back at Tōru after the comment, not because he’s in shock, or confused, or processing his new title, but because he begins to smirk with an amount of cockiness that gets underneath Tōru’s skin like nothing else.

One time Shrimpy asks Tōru what he calls the boss.

Tōru grins and takes a sip from his styrofoam cup, which makes the whole moment a lot less threatening than he’d like, and says “wouldn’t you like to know?”

He has many names for Iwaizumi Hajime, none of which are appropriate for the workplace. Some because they’re indecent, others because— no, they’re still indecent. If it’s not utterly filthy, they’re not creative enough to be spoken aloud, so he sticks to Iwaizumi-kun, with a personal favourite kept only in the confines of his mind.

That is, until he slips up.

He could say it’s because he’s caught off guard when Iwaizumi-kun comes into work late with hair in a complete disarray, sleeves rolled up, and cussing like a sailor when he spills his morning coffee on himself.

He could say it’s because he didn’t get a lot of sleep, and that impeded on his ability to censor himself around the boss.

He’d rather say it was anything other than what it was because normally nicknaming is embarrassing for one person, the nicknamed, not the nicknamee. Instead, it was very much the reverse.

A big-time potential client they’ve been trying to get since before Tōru got hired calls, requesting to speak to the CEO of Seijoh Inc. Tōru presses the receiver to his chest, leans back in his wonderful swivel chair, and screams “THIS IS NOT A DRILL, IWA-CHAN!”

The entire office turns silent and Tōru considers shipping himself to America, dying from suffocation in the confined space of a cardboard box, or from the rough handling the packaging industry utilizes.

The door to Iwaizumi’s office opens and he pops his head out. “Did you say something, Oikawa?”

___Oh shit._

Stingyglasses is snickering, like the little piece of shit he is, and Rooster-kun and Owl-san seem to be dying silently. Shrimpy blinks with those big eyes of his, and ECK looks confused, which is nothing new, but the heat on his face cannot be ignored as Iwaizumi looks around the office.

“Client on line 3,” he says, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Got it.” With a slight nod, Iwaizumi is back in his office with the door closed, and Tōru is left with his humiliation and Stingyglasses’ stupid voice teasing him, prodding him with his ruler from his desk and muttering “Iwa-chan. _Really_?” just loud enough to torment Tōru.


	4. vending machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His grave will read: _Hinata Shōyō, beloved son, doting_ _brother, killed by an ungrateful mountain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new narrators!

Kageyama Tobio has somehow made choosing a carton of milk terrifying.

Shōyō isn’t all that surprised, especially since whenever Kageyama looks at him, it feels like he’s Medusa’s next victim. He just wants to go to the bathroom, but the vending machine is inconveniently situated right next to the men’s washroom.

He considers just waiting it out or going in his pants, even if he _is_ twenty-two. He’ll just tip-toe away like he’s never even been seen—

_BANG!_

Shōyō jumps, nearly falling over at the sudden sound. Kageyama is staring down at the vending machine like it’s just murdered someone precious to him, his face scrunched up in that way it does when things don’t go exactly the way he wants.

He sees the problem instantly.

The carton of milk is stuck on its way down.

There’s another loud bang as Kageyama slams his fist against the glass, trying to dislodge the offending beverage.

It’s too much for Shōyō, who starts snickering.

It does not go unnoticed.

Kageyama turns to him, instantly trapping the laughter in his throat.

“Something _funny_ to you?”

“N-no.”

Kageyama huffs, going back to the vending machine. He hits it again, forcefully but nothing happens. Body slamming himself against the glass does absolutely nothing either, and it’s clear that with each failed attempt, the dark-haired boy is getting more and more frustrated.

“Do you want some help?”

“I don’t _need_ help,” snarls the tall man. “Especially not from you.”

“Meanie.”

“Better than a dumbass.”

Shōyō wrinkles his nose. “Should you really be saying that, considering you can’t even get a carton of milk out of the machine?”

Kageyama growls like he belongs in a zoo or something. “I’d like to see _you_ do any better.”

Shōyō shrugs. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Do it. Now.”

The orange haired man jumps to his feet instantly, rushing to the black box containing all the snacks. Dropping to his feet, he slips his hand through the slot and feels around. Half his torso is inside the machine, his head at an odd angle when his fingers finally brush against the offending carton of milk.

“Ha!”

“It’s no good if you can’t even get it out,” says Kageyama, crossing his arms.

Shōyō grits his teeth, and with a push of his body, dislodges the carton. He grins triumphantly.

“Move out of the way, idiot,” says Kageyama, nudging at him with his knee to get the older boy to give him enough space to reach in for his beverage.

Shōyō moves with the force, but—

_Oh shit._

“I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean you’re stuck?”

“What does it sound like I mean, eh, Bakayama? Stuck means stuck!” He tries to pull himself free from the jaws of death that is the mouth of the machine, but finds that nothing’s working. His arm is in severe pain, his bladder hates him, and Kageyama glaring at him is _really_ not helping his situation.

The tall man grabs him by the shoulders and tries to forcefully push him the right way, but his body is protesting and aching and he lets out a shriek.

“Don’t do that!”

“Well, maybe don’t get stuck in the first place!”

“I was trying to help _you_ , you ungrateful bastard!”

Shōyō is going to die here. His grave will read: _Hinata Shōyō, beloved son, doting_ _brother, killed by an ungrateful mountain._ This is what he gets for trying to do the right thing.

“Should I call someone?”

Oh, _now_ he’s offering? It isn't like Shōyō wanted anyone else to see his humiliation, but resigning himself to death doesn’t seem like a nice option either. He pulls at his arm, and, technically, half of his torso in vain, trying to escape the evil clutches of the milk machine monster.

“What if we just lube it?”

“Lube it?” echoes Shōyō, wrinkling his nose. “That sounds wrong.”

“Dumbass, it’s only wrong if you think it’s wrong. Do you _want_ me to pull at your arm until it pops right off?”

“I’m sure I can just sweat myself out of this,” says the redhead with a shrug. He doesn’t need Kageyama’s gross, big fingers on him. That’s not fair. It’s not _their_ fault their attached to a less than pleasant body.

The temp agrees to wait it out, though he’s no doubt bitter about the whole thing, given the giant ordeal that’s occurred for a little milk break in the middle of work.

Suddenly, the elevator door opens. Out steps Iwaizumi-san, who stares at the two of them in confusion. The sheer force of his gaze has Shōyō sweating so much, his arm just slips out of the slot.

Iwaizumi-san just gives the two of them a stiff nod and then avoids looking at them as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Shōyō’s need to go to the bathroom has completely evaporated, and he knows it’ll hit him again in a few minutes or so, and he may have done permanent damage to his bladder, but he’ll take the risk. There’s a bathroom in the HR department, and Suga has lollipops in his desk, which is always a bonus.

Kageyama takes his carton from the tray and the two of them lock eyes.

“We are never speaking of this,” says the taller man, his upper lip stiff.

“Speaking of what?”

“The whole … past fifteen minutes didn’t happen.”

“What didn’t happen?”

Kageyama’s brow is furrowing. “You know, the—”

“I know what you mean,” says Shōyō, rolling his eyes. “I was pretending I didn’t, because you said we were forgetting about this whole thing. It was a joke, Bakayama.”

“Dumbass.”

The tips of his ears are red.

Shōyō feels like they’ve just shared a very important bonding moment, or maybe they’re both just bound to each other by the trauma of their boss witnessing them crowding around a vending machine with half of a person stuck inside of it. They’re making progress, he supposes, and though he doesn’t necessarily want to be Kageyama’s friend, they’re moving into that “civil” territory he’s heard is so important.

That is, until Kageyama says “knife”, and Shōyō is quite sure that creepy look on his face means he’s plotting his death.


	5. fax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fix him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite sure why it turned out this way ... but basically I'm drowning in work so I needed to write SOMETHING, so here ya go ...

Oikawa Tōru refuses to be defeated by a fucking _fax machine._

It’s not _his_ fault he isn’t competent in this one feature of the copier that’s basically ancient. No one uses it anymore, not with e-mails and scanning.

_C’mon, c’mon._

The machine makes a groaning sound, an awful lot like it’s dying, and then the entire thing starts shaking.

_Yes, baby! Work for Tōru!_

_SPLAT!_

_Well, shit._

Toru’s remarkably white shirt now has a giant stain, like he went toe-to-toe with an octopus and lost. He wants to give himself a small pat on the back, just because he’s been working here for so long, and hasn’t destroyed his wardrobe. Maybe he should carry one of those Tide Sticks, or whatever they’re called, but for now he’ll have to make do.

There aren’t any tissues around ( _next order of business make every employee bring one box of Kleenex, like it’s the first day of kindergarten_ ), so, knowing it’s wrong, he takes some paper from the waste-tray and begins to dab at his shirt like he’s seen those Beauty Gurus on the internet do when drying their face.

At that moment, Tsukishima turns the corner. He’s silent, but Tōru knows he has something to say. He _always_ has something to say.

Somehow, his silence is more infuriating than his usually biting words.

He’s just jealous Tōru looks better than him, even with the giant inkblot on his shirt. It’s a new fashion trend that’s sweeping the nation as of 25 seconds ago, and he’s hip and ahead of the times, paving the way for future generations.

Just when he’s about to ask if the tall, blond piece of shit is jealous of Tōru’s superior fashion sense, the boss rounds the corner.

He looks Tōru up and down but says nothing.

“I can explain!”

_Ah, there’s that snicker._

The brunet lets Tsukishima go, moving past the two of them to his desk, making sure not to break eye contact. If Iwaizumi is like a dog, then that means eye contact is key to maintaining dominance, and control.

It would help if his gaze didn’t feel like it was peering into his very soul, though.

“Come with me.”

Tōru follows, because what else can he do? The job pays well, and for a while as he goes down the corridors he tries to hide the stain, but Iwaizumi says a quick “leave it”, and he does, instead trying to keep up with the shorter man’s pace. It must be brisker or something, that he’s scrambling to catch up.

“Listen, there was like a demonic monster in the ink tray and it decided it was jealous of my ruggedly handsome good looks, so I took it on in a battle and— shutting up now.”

The glare the man sends him is enough to haunt his dreams, day and night.

As they go down the stairs, it occurs to Tōru that Iwaizumi may be trying to kill him out of sight of the others, which is hardly fair since he wants to look his best on his death day. He wants all the other corpses to be jealous of his gorgeous self, without needing the whole embalming thing that most people get.

Instead, he opens the door to the HR department and he’s pushed (yes, pushed) in front of Suga, the ever-smiling, ever innocent light-haired head of HR.

Maybe those deep, pretty hazel eyes and dimple hide a truly sinister truth behind them, and they’ve been plotting his death since he accidentally brought in smelly tuna to lunch two weeks ago.

“Fix him.”

The boss leaves.

“C’mon,” says Suga, putting his hand on Toru’s shoulder. It feels cold. Like how a vampire might feel. “Let’s get you ready.”

“DON’T KILL ME!”

Suga raises an eyebrow. “Kill you? Why would I kill you? There are so many better things I could do with you. Like, use you to mess with Iwaizumi-san, or get Iwaizumi-san laid, or—”

“Wait, you’re _not_ going to murder me?”

Suga laughs. “Do I really look that threatening?” He creases his eyebrows, trying to put on an intimidating face, but it falls short. “I mean, Daichi sometimes gets scared when I talk to him a certain way, but I think that’s just him being flustered. Anyway, we have a lost and found here. You need a new shirt, right? Doesn’t look good for the receptionist to be a mess, does it?”

“Ah … right,” says Tōru, his cheeks turning red.

When he gets the new shirt and heads back up, Iwaizumi looks him up and down and nods, the tips of his ears turning red.


	6. elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Impressive voice crack.”
> 
> “Impressive voice crack, your mom!”
> 
> They both wrinkle their noses. “That was bad.”
> 
> “I know, sorry. Don’t dock my pay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey if you guys want a specific kind of scene or situation, let me know. I don't really know where I'm going with this AU, but I have fun with this dork-face Oikawa.

Oikawa Tōru is an interesting employee, to say the least.

Over the past six weeks, Hajime's learnt appearances can be deceiving. The receptionist who initially appeared to be a porcelain doll come to life is very efficient, and somehow balances work and play perfectly, quickly becoming part of the team. He doesn’t let any conflicts of interest with the few employees he _does_ clash with get in the way of his work, and he may be in line to get a raise at this rate. Hajime had never noticed the stifling atmosphere until Oikawa made it disappear.

One morning, as the elevator doors are about to close, he hears:

“WAIT!”

He stares at the buttons, trying to remember which one keeps the doors open rather than closed, hesitating because those pictures have always been confusing, when Oikawa shoves his way in and lets out a sigh of relief.

“That could’ve been bad,” the receptionist babbles. “So, going up.” He presses the appropriate floor number, and the terrible elevator music begins.

Oikawa starts humming the _Jeopardy_ thinking tune, which feels like a different kind of elevator music. 

The elevator does that little dip it always does right before stopping and then—

“What was that?”

“Uh.” Hajime adjusts the strap of his bag. “Just a thing.”

“Uh huh.”

The doors to the elevators aren’t opening. Hajime doesn’t like it all that much, but that’s what happens when you work in a shitty building that cuts expenses on things like good elevator service. Though it’s not _ideal_ , seems like it’s just one of those things they’ll have to wait out.

The brunet by his side has gone surprisingly silent.

“You alright there, Oikawa?”

“Yeah, fine.”

He’s not.

He’s trembling, mouthing words that aren’t coming out, though they seem an awful lot like “ _space, the final frontier_ ”. His knuckles turn white around his messenger bag, and Hajime’s not sure if he notices, but he’s rocking back and forth.

“Are you claustrophobic?”

“ _What_?” That was way too high pitched. “No.” Way too low. “I’m fine. Are _you_ scared?”

This is wonderful. He’s stuck in the elevator with a receptionist who he’s pretty sure still thinks he eats children during his lunch break. “You’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Impressive voice crack.”

“Impressive voice crack, your mom!”

They both wrinkle their noses. “That was bad.”

“I know, sorry. Don’t dock my pay?”

As if he’d do something like that over something as minor as a panic attack that’s out of his control.

“It’s … er, it’s okay to be scared,” Hajime says because he’s an only child and has no clue how the fuck this whole “comforting” thing is supposed to work.

Oikawa nods, but his eyes are glassy like he’s far away and can’t really hear him.

_Deep breath._

Hajime shifts in the small elevator and places his hands on the man’s shoulders. He tries not to read into the way he flinches too much. Looking him dead in the eye, he says “Don’t panic.”

Confused hazel eyes gaze back at him, and he starts to panic, wondering if this type of reference is beyond his interest, when it morphs into understanding.

“Did you just …?” 

And then he starts to laugh. Nervously at first, and then somewhere down the line it becomes genuine. Nothing about the situation itself is funny, especially since Hajime is the _master_ of spiralling thoughts that have convinced him he’s doomed to spend eternity in an elevator with his employee who smells like Old Spice, but laughing means he’s not panicking which is always a plus. He looks adorable as he leans on the walls for support, and he’s not sure when, but Hajime joins in, and then they’re both laughing.

Hajime hasn’t laughed in a long time.

It takes about five minutes after that before the doors are opened. Tsukishima looks at them like they’re idiots, but he’s gotten used to the blond’s judgmental stares.

“Morons,” he mutters before going back o his desk.

Oikawa coughs into his sleeve. “Uh … thanks for that. The whole …”

“Helping you not panic?” Hajime offers.

“Yeah. That.” The way Oikawa bites his lip looks more painful than seductive. He pats Hajime on the chest once, eyes going wide in horror before he scurries off to his desk.

Hajime feels like he understands Oikawa Tōru a little more.


	7. minesweeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s mastered about 10 different types of Solitaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you know, updates to this story are kind of spastic. I'm dropping a course so that I'm less stressed this semester, but this is kind of a side project so you shouldn't expect normal updates. I'm trying to give it _the office/parks & recs_ vibe, (the latter of which I recently started watching and Ben Wyatt is my SPIRIT ANIMAL, and Tom can die in a hole), so all the chapters are, as they stand, random snippets of office life. There's no real over-arching plot, but I suspect I'll figure one out, same way I did for my _Star Trek_ fic. Just a heads up if you're this far into the game and aren't sure where this is going, trust me, I don't know either.

Tōru has a lot of free time on his hands.

Iwaizumi is very good at running an organization, despite his young age, and his workers are all dedicated and efficient (even Stingyglasses, much as he’s _loathe_ to admit it). This means he spends lots of time at his desk staring at Solitaire with a very serious expression.

It may be that Tōru is a workaholic who can’t stand looking at a long to-do list, so he completes his tasks quickly, doubts his skills, double-checks them, and then triple checks them, before making new tasks for himself so he won’t be bored.

Eventually he’s done everything he can, filing all the appropriate documents and reorganizing Iwaizumi’s schedule for the month, and finding little tasks to do around the office, without intruding on any one person’s cubicle of space. He’s not off the clock till about six, so he just has to occupy his time at that point, which means he plays some stupid computer games.

He’s never been a fan of computer games. Well, that’s inaccurate. He gets very competitive, and Takeru is always mad when he beats him. Akira warns him to go easy on her son, but he can’t just _lose_ without trying. Plus, it’ll just make Takeru the toughest kid in middle school. He’ll know what failure is, and try harder next time.

Simply put, Tōru is too competitive to play video games without them taking over his life.

This means he plays the games offered by the computer, the classic ones with the eight-bit graphics like Snake and Atari Breakout. He doesn’t read instructions, just clicks buttons for a while until he figures out more or less the game’s mechanics. He’s mastered about 10 different types of Solitaire, with a preference of Forty Thieves, which is reportedly one of the most difficult. Tōru’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Which is why Minesweeper irritates him.

It takes a _lot_ of trial and error to figure out how the game works when you don’t read instructions. Solitaire is easy in the sense there aren’t _bombs going off when you fuck up_ , but before he can fully understand just _where_ he went wrong, it’s already game over.

He gets it, eventually. It’s a game built on logic, not luck, which is great if his volleyball strategies are anything to go by.

He’s in the middle of a rather tricky game, narrowing his latest move down to two possible spaces when—

“Not there.”

Tōru very nearly smacks his boss in the face in surprise. Twisting in his chair, he finds Iwaizumi Hajime staring over his shoulder at his computer screen.

“Huh?”

“Not that one,” says Iwaizumi, his stupid good smelling cologne clouding Tōru’s senses. The CEO of Seijoh Inc _is_ terrifying and evil, but not in the way most people think. He’s doing terrible things to Tōru’s hormones.

“What makes you so sure?”

“An idiot can see it’s the wrong one.”

Just to spite him, he clicks it.

 _Game over_ reads his screen.

Iwaizumi Hajime snickers like he’s four.

Tōru hates how much he loves it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I play a stupid amount of Solitaire?

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com)!


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